UC-NRLF 


530 


PAN'S  REEDS 

AND  OTHER  VERSE 
By 

WILLIAM    MACKAY    CALDWELL 


GIFT   OF 


<U-6  P 


PAN'S  REEDS 

AND  OTHER  VERSE 

By 
WILLIAM  MACKAY  CALDWELL 


* 


329407 


Copyrighted,  1915,  by 

WILLIAM  MACKAY  CALDWELL 

All  rights  reserved 


Stain  Print™, 

LOS  ANGELES 


c 


PAN'S  REEDS 


' 


CONTENTS 

Page 
PAN'S  REEDS   7 

AN  OLD  CHURCH 9 

SONNET   12 

BALLAD  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  GENTLEMEN .13 

AMOR  SABINUM 15 

PRAYER   17 

THOU— WITHIN    (Ode) 18 

SONNET:    CREATION 21 

THE  EMPTY  ROOM 22 

UNE  ROSE  DE  L'HiER  SOIR  (Villanelle) 23 

SABINE  NOCTURNE  (Sonnet) 25 

THE  PRAY-ER  OF  WALPI  (Chaunt) ...  .26 


Contents  Continued 

Page 

LA  SAINTE  VIERGE  D'AviuoN 30 

JAPANESE  LOVE  SONG 31 

UNO  ASPECTU  IN  AMOR  INCIDERE  (Sonnet) 33 

THE  STREET  CALLED  SORROW-LOVE   (Dirge) 34 

ROSA  MYSTICA   37 

LA  DOULEUR  DE  TROUVERE   (Ballad) 39 

THE   HERD-BOY  OF  LACUNA 41 

LA   DEMOISELLE   DE    MONS    (Chanson) 43 

SONNET  (Japan:   Winter) 45 

NIGHT  OF  THE  PAINTED  SANDS 46 

SONNET:   BEAUTY  49 


STELLA  AMORIS 

(A  LEGEND  OF  THE  STARRY  VALES  OF  ARCADY) 50 


se  tu  sequi  tua  Stella 

Non  puoi  fallire  al  glorioso  porto  .  . 
Francesco  Petrarca. 


PAN'S      REEDS 


PAN'S  REEDS 

r'N  has  fallen  now.     Across  the  sky 
Two    nestward    doves.      Touched    with    the 
^^,    afterglow, 
A  rush-grown  stream  breaking  its  melody 
To  play  around  a  nymph's  soft  limbs:  and  lo! 
Where  the  myrrh-meadows  amaranthine  lie, 
Pan  with  his  reeds,  his  jolly  cheeks  a-blow. 

Mellow  the  hills.     A  disc  of  golden   frost, 

The  slow  moon  mounting  through  a  coronal 

Of  olives,  now  in  amber  clouds  is  lost, 

Now  breaks  to  draw  a  circled  interval 

About  an  oak,  against  whose  gnarled  trunk  mossed 

Leans  Pan,  cross-legged,  imperturbable. 

Pan,  with  his  satyr  hooves  and  pointed  ears, 
His  weazened  face,  and  wicked  little  eye, 
Eld  with  the  evil  of  a  thousand  years — • 
Ah  me!  so  soon  as  his  soft  threnody 
She  lists,  forgot  will  be  her  wild,  shy  fears 
In  the  sweet  strains  he  plays  so  leisurely. 


[7] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Hark  to  their  throbbing!  how  their  silver  melts 
In  little  pearl-drops  as  a  moist  flow'r  drips 
Its  fulness  on  a  pool  in  tiny  belts 
Of  crystal,  till  the  wood-dove  hears,  and  sips — 
Ah,  cease  your  liquid  strains,  bad  Pan,  or  else 
Her  fluttering  heart  will  be  upon  your  lips! 

Clear  shine  the  skies,  starry  with  dots  of  gold 
That  cluster  round  him,  an  enraptured  crowd 
Of  listeners:  faint  across  the  silvery  wold 
A  shadow  flits,  gauzed  in  the  night's  thin  shroud- 
And  the  old  moon,  who  saw  the  World  unfold, 
Hides  his  kind  face  behind  a  passing  cloud. 


[8] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


AN  OLD  CHURCH 

aXDER  the  China-trees'  soft  shade 
An  old  church  is,  whose  crumbling  walls 
Are  rotted  where  the  ivy  crawls 
Like  tapestry  of  faded  jade. 

And  there,  before  its  doors  ajar. 
I  rest  and  list  the  sad  refrain 
By  kind,  dead  fingers  played  again. 
Than  Tosti's  Vorei  sadder  far. 

A  low  wind  soughs,  and  where  I  stand 
The  autumn  leaves  fall  one  by  one 
In  gold  and  pink  and  vermillion, 
Like  snowflakes  on  a  lonely  land. 

And  one  by  one  the  dead  leaves  fall. 
And  in  my  heart  is  winter's  drear; 
The  shedding  trees  are  not  more  bare, 
The  wind  more  lone  a  vesperal. 


[9] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


A  cowled  Brother  slowly  walks 
Within  the  doors,  and  kneels  in  prayer: 
But  in  his  heart  there  is  no  tear, 
For  with  the  God  he  loves  he  talks 

While  filtering  through  a  painted  pane 
Like  amethyst  upon  the  aisle, 
Where  I  and  one  once  knelt  awhile, 
The  last  light  throws  its  jeweled  stain. 

And  from  mine  eyes  drop,  one  by  one. 
The  hot,  wet  tears  like  falling  leaves: 
The  very  twilight  with  me  grieves, 
Tn  gathering  mistral  sets  the  sun. 

And  no  pearl  beads  the  wint'ry  sky, 
For  each  pearl  is  a  jeweled  tear. 
And  every  tear  a  crystal  prayer — 
All  counted  on  my  rosary. 


[10] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


The  cowled  Brother,  satiate, 
Solemnly  rising  from  his  knees, 
Goes  out  beneath  the  China-trees 
And  enters  through  the  convent  gate. 

The  organ  keys,  with  sough  and  swing, 
Sob  unplayed  Vorei  to  my  ear — 
And  in  the  vacant  aisle  I  hear 
The  flutter  of  a  passing  wing! 

Again  the  wind  makes  mornful  tune — 
And  just  above  the  leafless  trees, 
Wrapped  in  filmy,  shiv'ring  fleece, 
Like  a  poor  goatherd  slinks  the  moon. 

An  old  church  is,  whose  crumbling  walls 
Beneath  the  China-trees,   (all  white 
And  tapestried  in  ghostly  light), 
Are  rotted  where  the  ivy  crawls. 


[11] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


SONNET 

HIKE  as  a  pearl  or  crystal  prayer,  is  wrought, 
Jewel  of  craven  sorrow,  from  a  soul 
A  tear,  when  touched  by  running  tides  is  stole 
Some  jetsam  from  the  further  shores  of  Thought, 
And  round  the  pier  of  memory  is  caught 
The  flotsam  washed  up  by  the  dark  grey  roll 
Of  recollection,  many  a  mocking  ghoul 
Of  things  desired  and  prayed  and  come  to  naught! 
.     .     .     fell     gloaming    hours,     when    drear    remem 
brance  knells 

The  void  to  wound  with  horrid  brazen  gong     .     .     . 
And  yet   for  those  who  list  a  music  wells 
Tuneful  with  hope  from  e'en  those  sightless  hells, — 
Like  a  bird's  round  of  liquid,  lovely  song 
Telling  of  starbright  night  from  darksome  dells. 


[12] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


BALLAD  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  GENTLEMEN 

N  score  Christian  gentlemen, 
Riding  with  sword  and  lance; 
The  Lion-and-lillies  flanking 

The  civilized  ordinance; 

And  a  sandaled  Fray,  and  a  great  Cross, 

Leading  the  long  advance. 

Ten  score  Christian  gentlemen 

Bearing  the  Word  of  God 

Over  the  fiery  deserts 

Where  never  had  Christian  trod, 

With  the  Wine  of  the  Chalice  on  every  brow, 

And  the  sign  of  the  Cross  on  each  sword. 

Ten  score  Christian  gentlemen — 

A  Bishop  had  blessed  their  zeal, 

Sealing  the  lilly-name  of  Christ 

On  lips  that  were  visored  in  steel! 

And    their    cry    as    they    rode    to    the    paynim 

abode 
Was,  "Christ!  and  the  Church's  weal!" 


[13] 


PAN'S     REEDS 


Ten  score  Christian  gentlemen 

Suddenly  ceased  that  cry, 

For  as  Merlin  had  walked  before  them, 

Or  each  had  Don  Quixote's  eye, 

Roof,  and  spire,  and  minaret 

Flared  out  in  gold  on  the  sky! 

Ten  score  Christian  gentlemen 

Stared  in  a  golden  trance, 

And  this  one  thought  of  a  lady  of  rank, 

And  that  of  a  castle  in  France — 

Then  the  visors  snapped:  "Are  you  ready, 

fair  sirs? 
So! — lances  in  lead — advance!" 

Four  score  Christian  gentlemen, 
Sword-arms  weary  and  red, 
Riding  in  gold-piled  saddles — 

And  the  long,  long  line  of  the  Dead! — 

And  a  sandaled  Fray  with  the  gentle 
Crucifix  on  ahead. 


PAN'S     REEDS 


AMOR  SABINUM 

0!  now  the  brazen  hands  of  morning  lift 
The  valley  mists!  Below,  the  spires  of  Rome. 
Above,  as  argosies,  in  sweet  spendthrift 
The  sailing  clouds  breaking  with  creamy  foam 
Across  a  sea  of  lapis-lazuli: 

Climbing  and  twisting  through  the  winey  loam, 
White  in  the  sapphire  veining  of  the  sky, 
The  old  Valerian  viaduct  mounts  upward  to  the  eye 

Through  meads  with  laurel  coronals  entwined: 
And  where  rug-like  the  myrtle  floweret 
Are  lain,  their  edge  with  faint  laburnum  lined, 
The  trippings  of  bare  feet  their  incense  fret 
As  the  brown  peasants  Salian  measures  tread, 
Scattering  petal-clouds;  and  sweeter  yet 
Than  vervaine  carpet  through  the  valley  spread, 
Ripe  lips  on  laughing  lips  with  the  merry  grape 
stained  red. 


[15] 


PAN'S     REEDS 


Ah  me!  a  score  of  centuries  are  fled 

Since   Horace  drained  his  homely  amphorae 

Of  Sabine  vintage!  (Are  the  Dead  so  dead?) 

Methinks  that  still  a  weary,  tear-dimmed  eye 

Strains  from  the  icy  Euxine  o'er  the  mere, 

As  Ovid,  exiled,  labours  to  descry 

The  wild-thymed  Sabine  meads, — the  sparkling  air, — 

Damon  in  idlesse  loosing  the  strands  of  Lyce's  hair. 


[16] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


PRAYER 


'AN  of  the  wondrous  Birth,  whom 
Heaven's  star 


1  £  I  J.  J.  t  d  V   V*  A  -I     O        OLCVl 

V-^    Was  need  to  write  thy  coming  in  the  sky, 
Be  thou  my  judge,  lest  This  of  which  am  I 
Slay  me  as  slew  it  thine  own  avatar. 
And  if  thy  feet  are  shod  in  fiery  brass, 
And  thou  are  robed  in  sheet  of  whitest  flame. 
And  in  thy  presence  angel  legions  pass 
With   eyes  averted,  and  thy  dreadful   Name 
Is   sealed — yet  art  thou  not  that  human  same 
That  dared  the  priests  the  ravenous  stones  to  hurl 
At  her  who  neither   matron   was,  nor   girl? 
And  took  on  lips  of  clay  the  kiss  of  shame? 
And  with  thy  weary,  human  eyes  rained  tears 
For  those  thy  murderers  in  Gesthemane?     .     .     . 
(What  hope  of  mercy  in  our  man-made  years!) 
Man  of  the  wondrous  Birth,  my  jury  be! 


[17] 


PAN'S    REEDS 


THOU— WITHIN 

(ODE) 

GHOU— THE  WITHIN   ME, 
Human  and  God, 
The  fullness  of  whose  treasury 

Is  on  me  showered 

Rich  as  is  rain-kissed  vineyard,  utterly 
To  THEE  I  turn  in  prayer. 
(Ah,  well  beloved  of  me 
Who -built  your  altar  there, 

The  symphony  of  her  had  lit  the  stars  in  Christ's  own 
hair! 

Fragrant  with  flower, 

THOU  whom  the  feeble  priests  call  "Soul" — 
THOU  are  not  that  insensate  bower 
Of  their  deaf  God  beyond  control! 

Not  there 
We  found  YOU  in  the  silver  of  an  hour 

That  YOU  made  grow 

Into  a  garden  where 
A  living  stream  through  Dian's  meads  has  now. 


[18] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


And  it  was  THOU  who,  when  the  new-horned  moon 

Came  peeping  like  a  timid  little  fellow 

Across  the  perfect  hour  of  our  noon. 

And  in  the  east  we  saw  the  skies  grow  yellow 

As  the  gold  stars  lift  their  voices — ah,  too  soon 

They  sang  the  orison  of  waking  Day! — 

Chorded  THY  music  from  our  twi-stringed  souls — 

(That  were  such  gentle,  happy  virelai 

From    flow'r-fretted   angels'    citherns   and    citholes, 

How  could  They  make  such  threnody  to  slav!) 


What  time  I  drew 

Her  hyacinth  within  me 

In   one  long-breathed   rhapsody 

And  knew 

Her   audibly, 

THOU,  God  she  built  WITHIN, 

Loved  our  Love: 
But  when  a  little  Day  would  make  it  Sin 

That  of  our   Love  we   strove, 
Break  the  sweet  melody  rather  than 
Its  cadences  be  unshrove. 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Yet  THOU,  O  God  whose  altar  she  built  HERE- 
Thy  fulgence  wilt  outlive  the  lampless  Throne, 
As  angels'  eyes  at  night  linger  upon 
A  sea  to  drive  the  clouds  of  unlit  Fear. 

Still  with  me   One, 

YOU'LL  make  the  flowers  grow 

Over  the  grove  of  neither  moon  nor  sun, 

So  that  their  song  for  me  shall  say  to  her, 

"I  love  you  so!" 


[20] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


SONNET:   CREATION 

first  .     .     .  white!     .     .  .  indescribably 
Pure  white 

Flooding  and  blending  all     .     .from  Nothing 
wrought     . 

Shadow:     .     .     .     (and  that  is  Birth,  and  that  is  Art!) 
Lo!  the  alternate  Doors  of  Day  and  Night 
Flung  wide  the  null  of  ether  to  invite, 
Which,  travailing  to  Dawn  the  gold  t'impart. 
A  barrier  burst  from  out  its  swollen  heart. 
Bending  in  prisms  three  of  virgin  light; 
Till  through  the  Doors  heraldic  rode  the  Sun, 
Impaling  in  an  estoiled  field — a-whirl 
Rioting  the  prismatic  crystal  of 
The  Rainbow     .     .     .     lo!  singing  Earth's  orison 
In  flower-borning  at  its  arched  throat — GIRL! 
(And  that  is  Birth,  and  Art;  and  that  is  Love!) 


[21] 


PAN'S    REEDS 


THE  EMPTY  ROOM 

XHAD  asked  her  to  wait;  the  fire  was  there, 
Feeble  and  groping  about  the  hearth; 
Wanted  but  time  for  the  flame  to  flare 
From  the  coals,  all  live  but  smothered  with  earth. 
So  I  nursed  the  flicker  for  all  its  worth — 
Nursed   it  into   a   little   glow — 
Till  the  logs  were  crackling  with  merry  mirth: 
Then  I  rose  from  my  knees,  and  turned  .  .  .  and  lo! 
The  room  was  empty  of  all  save  dearth! 


[22] 


PAN'S     REEDS 


UNE  ROSE  DE  L'HIER  SOIR 

(Villanelle) 

OOR  rose,  wilt  and  bare! 
Where  now  is  your  flow'r 
That  she  wore  in  her  hair? 

You  were  blown  then,  and  fair, 
And  you  grew  in  her  bower, 
Poor  rose,  wilt  and  bare! 

In  her  gold  you  did  fare: — 
Did  that  scent  you  devour 
That  she  wore  in  her  hair? 


[23] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


And  her  cheek  you  were  near- 
Bid  it  steal  all  your  dower, 
Poor  rose,  wilt  and  bare? 

So  she  cast  you  out  here^, 
Now  your  fragrance  is  o'er 
That  she  wore  in  her  hair! 

(Is  that  rain?  or  a  tear?) 
Well,  you  lived  for  an  hour, 
Poor'  rose,  wilt  and  bare, 
That  she  wore  in  her  hair! 


[24] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


SABINE  NOCTURNE 

(SONNET) 

QUIETEST  hour.  In  the  di-toned  light 
The   weary  vintagers   wend  home 
ward;   high 

A  mower  with  his  scythe,  against  the  sky 
Climbs  the  faint  hills  before  arising  night. 

Far  down  the  valley  twinkling  panes  invite 
To  cottage  cheer:  about,  soft  rushes  sigh 
As  some  shy  maid  telling  her  rosary, 
Her  pulsing  secret  love  to  set  aright. 

Hark!  faint  from  bellfry  in  the  lowlands  toll 

Sad  trental  for  some  hamlet  father's  soul. 

Or  tear-voiced  masses  for  some  new-born  mite, 

Gone  where,  like  tracery  of  needle-hole 
In  the  rare  broidery  of  a  Cardinal's  stole, 
The  Evening  Star  is  pricked  in  lacey  white. 


[25] 


PAN'S    REEDS 


THE    PRAY-ER  OF  WALPI 

(Chaunt.) 

HE  camp  fire  made,  the  horses  fed, 
A  rock  of  basalt,  turreted, 
We  saw  against  the  sky. 

The  silence  of  the  evening  air 

Was  rended  by  a  long-wailed  prayer, 

Like  to  a  Muezzin's  cry. 

In  silhouette  upon  the  edge 
Of  an  overhanging  tier  of  ledge 
That  cut  the  dome  like  bars, 

A  figure  stretched  its  arms  in  chaunt, 

Eerie,  attenuated,  gaunt, 

To  its  brothers,  the  gold  stars. 


[26] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Over  the  saffron  skyline  came, 
Wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  silver  flame, 
The  first  edge  of  the  moon. 

Along  the  Milky  Way  the  light 
Blazed  like  a  city  street  at  night, 
White  with  the  heat  of  June. 

Up  from  the  ledge,  monotonous, 
Nor  eager,  nor  in  fearful  stress, 
Mounted  the  long-breathed  prayer 

As  the  healing  Archer  his  Arrow  aims 
Most  like,  it  mounted  in  thin  flames 
Through  the  hot,  electric  air. 


[27] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Then  like  a  thrown  hand-ball,  higher 
The  moon  went  free,  and  a  belt  of  fire 
Stood  all  about  its  rim, 

Till  it  bulged  sheer  out  from  the  circled  rield 
Like  the  center  stud  of  a  rounded  shield, 
And  hung  right  over  him. 

It  penciled  the  scaur  as  in  white  chalk; 
The  drooped  corn  wilt  on  the  parched  stalk, 
The  gaunt  kine,  blear  and  blind; 

And  we  saw  that  the  land  was  dead  with 

drouth — 

When  suddenly  some  clouds  ran  south 
After  a  feathered  wind. 


[28] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


And  still  the  solemn  monotone 
Went  on,  and  on,  and  on,  and  on; 
The  moon  fell  from  the  sky: 

The  stars  began  to  run  about: 
We  sought  the  camp,  and  worn  out 
In  fitful  sleep  closed  eye. 

Each  hour  we  heard  the  faint  prayer  spoke 
And  when  the  heart  of  night  was  broke 
We  stood  beneath  again. 

The  pray-er  on  the  ledge  was  gone — 
But  the  golden  feet  of  early  dawn 
Were  wetted  with  the  rain. 


[29] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


LA  SAINTE  VIERGE  D'AVILION 


O 


EAR,  were  I  not  of  common  clay, 
Long  since  my  drifting  argosy 
To  Avilion  had  found  its  way.) 


In  yonder  flower-pavilion 
Awaits  me  fairest  of  all  Queens 
Of  faery-footed  Avilion. 

Her  cheek  with  vervaine  dusk-wind  kissed, 
Her  tresses  all  about  her  free, 
A  drifting  nocturne  of  gold  mist. 

Across  the  mere  her  gold  is  sent 
Star-eyed:   (an  onyx  chorister 
Herseems,  so  star-like  is  her  scent.) 

And  ever  and  anon  her  call 
Is  waft  to  me  in  villenage. 
As  notes  from  dulcet  virginal. 

It  may  not  be:  the  mere  us  part, 
Where  I  am  mortal-tossed,  God  wot! 

But  holden  in  her  rosy  palm, 
Lo!  is  the  crystal  of  my  heart! 


[30] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


JAPANESE  LOVE  SONG 

O VAPORY  moon  of  Fujisan! 
O  moon  on  the  evening  sea! 
Soft  as  the  glow  from  a  moor'd  sampan, 
Or  gold  on  a  heron's  wing- 
Rise  up,   rise  up  and   my  lover  bring 
Over  the  waters  to  me! 
O   vapory  moon  of  Fujisan! 
O  moon  on  the  evening  sea! 

O  beautiful  star  with  golden  eyes! 

O  star  with  the  amber  mouth! 

Shine  where  my  sailor-lover  lies; 

Lest  his  sanpan  lose  its  way 

Shine  out,  shine  out  through   the   night, 

where  play 

The  winds  of  the  odorous  south — 
Beautiful  star  with  the  golden  eyes! 
O  star  with  the  amber  mouth! 


[31] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


O  silvery  cloud  with  fleecy  sail! 
O  cloud  with  the  ebon  hull! 
Wondrous  big  and  wondrous  frail — 
O  cloud  that  my  lover  brings! 
Sail  on,  sail  on,  your  beautiful  wings 
Outspread  like  a  homing  gull! 
Silvery  cloud  with  the  fleecy  sail! 
O  cloud  with  the  ebon  hull! 


[32] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


UNO  ASPECTU  IN  AMOR  INCIDERE 

(WOODLAND  SONNET) 

'LJRELY  1  valued  as  a  lush-rose  bloom 

IMy   shy   nymphood,   nor    dreamed    it   made    to 

spill 

Like  a  torn  flow'r  with  tassels  loosed,  until 
Pan's  lips  fell  fiercely  on  mine  in  the  gloom, 
And  I   a  god's  soft  voice  then  listened,  "Whom 
Love's  shrines  are  lighted  for  yields  not  to  ill!"- 
.  .  .   nothing  ...  a   falling  star  ...  is   this   tendril 
1,  woven  in  the  warp  of  Venus'  loom? 
And  all  is   wonderous  changed.     The  timid  girth 
Bound  by  the  heavens'  seems  a  little  womb 
To've  born  the  throbbing  beauty  of  the  earth — 
(Say,  barren  lush-rose,  dost  them  think  it  worth 
Thy  timid  petals  on  the  meadow   strewn, 
This  god-like  knowledge,  this  more  wide  re-birth?; 


[33] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


THE  STREET  CALLED  SORROW-LOVE 

(DIRGE) 

1DING  its  face  from  the  sapphire  morn; 

Darkling  and  damp; 
..Dingy;   malodorous;  unshorn 
Of  last  night's  garbage;  its  paint  still  on, 
I  hit  blotched  and  drab  in  the  murky  lamp; 

Afraid  of  the  day  above; 
This  is  the  grave  of  the  thing  still-born — 
The  street  called  Sorrow-Love. 

A  curtain  raises;  a  face  peers  out. 

Ghastly  as    Doom, 

Wearing  the  scarlet  that  last  night's  rout 
Over  the  wine  with  flirt  and  flout 
Made  seem  like  the  rose'  soft  bloom; 

Now  like  the  ashen  mask  of 
A  nightmare  blinks  in  the  fetid  gloom 
Of  the  street  called  Sorrow-Love. 


[34] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Faint  in  the  distance  the  city's  roar: 

Louder   than   Hell 

In  this  horrible  silence,  more  awful  far 
Than  a  sudden  oath,  or  a  banged-to  door, 
Or  the  crash  of  a  brazen  bell, 

Are  the  steps  from  above — 
Down  the  stairs— as  you  slink — pleasure  o'er— 

From  the  street  called  Sorrow-Love. 

And  this  is  the  thing  that  hurts  most  sore- 
Rotten  and  dead 

As  a  weed  in  a  cave  on  a  sunless  shore 
Is  your  SELF  as  you  grope  from  the  dismal  maw 
Of  the  place  where  your  revel  is  sped. 

And  the  day,  without  glove, 
Holds  to  your  eyes  what  you've  comraded 
In  the  street  called  Sorrow-Love. 


[35] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


And  why  does  the  alley  bear  that  name? 

Listen  and  know: 

A  woman's  Love  is  her  daylight  fame, 
But  you  and  I,  to  our  lasting  shame, 
Have  built  it  this  street  below 

The  Heavens  above — 
So,  gentlemen,  on  with  our  merry  game 
In  the  street  called  Sorrow-Love! 


[36] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


ROSA  MYSTICA 

rHOUGHT  this  land  unfragrant, 
unprofitable,  and  bare, 
Until  one  day  I  found  a  little 
flower  growing  there 
All  ripe  and  sweet,  with   scarlet, 

dewy  petal-lips  apart — 
And  then  straightway  I  made  the  land 
a  present  of  my  heart. 

The  sands  seemed  never-ending, 

and  the  cactus  drear  and  bleak, 
And  a   grey  coyote  was  howling 

like  a  damned  soul  from  a  peak, 
And  the  food-packs  on  my  saddle 

were  just  about  as  bare — 
When  all  at  once  I  found  the 

little  flower  growing  there! 


[37] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


And   suddenly  the   desert 

changed  all  its  awful  face; 
I  saw  the  cactus  waving 

their  arms  like  things  of  grace, 
And  the  grey  coyote  was  singing 

a  very  pleasing  hymn, 
And  I  smelled  the  stars  in  heaven 

as  the  night  came  creeping  in. 

And  the  fragrance  was  as  attar; 

and  when  the  moon  rose  up 
I  toasted  it  in  nectar 

in  my  rusted  coffee-cup; 
Then    the   gold    stars    sang   together, 

and  my  soul  filled  with  their  Art, 
For  the  little  flower  I  found  out  there 

is  known  as  "OPEN  HEART." 


[38] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


LE  DOULEUR  DU  TROUVERE 

(BALLADE) 


this  old  World  was  young,  the  King 

Upon  his  blazoned  dais, 
His  court  would  gather  round  and   sing 
Ballades  and  rondelais: 
Ah  me!  the  joyaunce  of  those  days 

Of   chivalry   and    song, 
Of  brave  devoir,  and  courtly  ways, 
When  this  old  World  was  young! 

When  this  old  World  was  young,  a  maid 

Would  bid  her  lover  fare 
An  errant  forth,  and  with  his  blade 

Fetch   guerdon    for   her   hair. 
No  talk  of  golden  dower  was  there, 

Nor  Love  upon  it  hung, 
The  proofs  of  Love  were  DO  and  DARE, 

When  this  old  World  was  young! 


[39] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


When  this  old  World  was  young,  a  knight 

Would  down   some   byeroad  chance 
In  keeping  of  his  knightly  plight. 

And  break  a  gallant  lance; 
And  Monarchs  for  a  lady's  glance, 

Or   gauntlet   lightly   flung, 
Would  stake  their  scepters,  a  1  outrance, 

When  this  old  World  was  young! 

L'ENVOI 
Ah  well,  the  World  is  somewhat  sere, 

And  words  sound  different  on  the  tongue; 
Kings  called  me  (sings  the  sad  trouvere) 

"Cousin,"  when  this  old  World  was  young! 


[40] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


THE  HERD-BOY  OF  LACUNA     / 

HELL-ROSE  against  moss-mellowed  grey 
Dies  in  the  sky  the  hot  last  jrfght; 


Blood-purple  bursts  the  heart  of  day 
Into  the  star-rimmed  bowl  of  night; 

And  where  the  feathered  corn  grows  white 
A  goatherd-boy  must  vigil  keep; 

A    nightingale   in    mischief-spite 

Mocks,  "Herd-boy,  close  your  eyes  and  sleep!" 

Clear  shine  the  stars:  the  girdled  scaur 
Two  herons  circle:  sleepy  and  slow 

Like  trickle  from  a   silver  jar 
A  stream  breaks  on  some  stones:  and  lo! 

Where  weave  the  willows  to  and  fro, 
With  brown-earth  olla  in  her  hands, 

betore  the  goatherd's  eyes  drooped  low 
The  Mirage-girl  inviting  stands! 


[41] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


Hard  by  the  corn  a  gaunt  coyote, 

The  water  dripping  from  his  jaw; 
Adown   the   canon's   shadowed   throat 

A  puma  stealths  on  velvet  paw. 
No  use,  poor  goats,  to  leap  and  ba-a-a! 

Nor  nightingale  to  cry  and  whirl! 
They've  gone  to  where  romances  are, 

The  herd-boy  and  the  Mirage-girl. 


[42] 


PAN'S     REEDS 


LA  DEMOISELLE  DE  MONS 

(Chanson) 

ERE  was  a  girl  of  Mons 
Who  a  gold  locket  wore; 
It  lies  upon  her  bones. 

Dull  gold  on  white:  more  fair 
It  was  not,  I  have  read, 
Than  the  gold  hair  of  her 

That  blew  across  the  wall 
Hard  by  the  castle  keep, 
Where  rest  the  Seneschal. 


[43] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


A  high  knight  was  her  wooer— 
(The  Seneschal   him  wist),— 
And  eke  a  troubadour. 

The  troubadour  her  kist — 
The  watching  Seneschal 
Drew  bolt  on  them — nor  missed! 
*  *  *  * 

There  was  a  girl  of   Mons — 
(God's  bane  upon  its  stones!) — 
Who  a  gold  locket  wore: 
It  lies  upon  her  bones. 


[44] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


SONNET 
(Japan :    Winter) 

E    iris  flow'r  is  o'er:  the  cherry  flown: 
The  petal-white  Sumida  crystal-massed 
With  ice  now:  where  the  maple's  soul  has  passed 
From  aureate  life  to  listless  russet,   (blown 
Like   dropped  notes   in   a   careless   monotone 
Dirged   by  each   swirling  gust   to  winter's   blast 
Addressed  as  streams  to  swell  the  ocean's  vast,) 
A  golgotha  of  leaves,  the  earth  is  strewn. 
But  where  the  kindlier  billows  beat  the  shore, 
Bringing  their   secret  from   the   dread   Below, — 
Tossing  their  spendthrift  garden  in  the  air, 
A  thread  of  gold  the  grey  sun  catches,  raw 
Falls  on  the  fluted  rocks  a  tress     .     .     .     and  lo! 
Some  unknown  weed  blossoms  to  flower  there! 


[45] 


PAN'S     REEDS 


NIGHT  OF  THE  PAINTED  SANDS 

gH,  well  beloved,  beside  me  rest; 
The  evening  shadows  draw  anigh, 
The  arowp's  song  is  of  his  nest, 
Like    prayer-sticks,    in    the    fire-sky 
The  sun's  last  beams  are  lit — and  smell 

The  gold  stars  in  the  desert  air! 
Ai-ah!  the  night-breeze  loves  to  dwell 
In  the  nopals  woven  in  your  hair — 

O,  lover!  my  lover! 
Who  wove  those  blood-red  flowers  there? 

See!  now  the  sunset  in  the  west 

Goes  flaming  in  a  scarlet  whorl; 
Soon  by  the  Twilight-boy  caressed 

Will   sleep   the    Heliotis-girl; 
Soon  o'er  the  vineyard  slow  above, 

Through  amber  clouds  the  moon  will  climb — 
Your  lips  are  as  a  winepress,  love, 

Ah,  crush  the  grape  that  is  on  mine! 
O,  lover!  my  lover! 

I'm  drunk  upon  their  scarlet  wine! 


[46] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Lo!  in  the  west  the  red  fire  dies, 

And  rose  and  gold  to  saffron  wane; 
Blue-black  the  sacred  mesa  lies, 

And  all  is  stilly  as  yon  crane 
One-legged    its  chrome-streaked  back  upon. 

Lie  still,  beloved,  till  I  have  guessed— 
(Your  eyes  are  like  the  spots  upon 

The  sacred  anltani's  breast!) 

O,  lover!  my  lover! 

What  other  girls  these  arms  have  pressed? 

Along  the   trail   the  beetles   sleep 
Each    on    the   other's   brittle    wings, 

While  through  the  drooping  cornfields  creep- 
Where  the  wiu-e  his  night-song  sings 

The  grey  dusk-shadows,   drear  and  thin, 
Swift  as  a  wolf-pack  from  their  lair 

Hold  me,  beloved,  and  hide  me  in 
The  raven  tassels  of  your  hair! 

O,   lover!   my  lover! 
I  want  to  hide  my  heart-beats  there! 


[47] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


How  hot  the  yune  is!    let's  rise 

And  seek  the  roof,  and  watch  the  night, 
And  bathe  us  in  the  curling  skies 

Painted  in  coal  and  silver-white — 
Alas!   the  pearl-stars   cluster   lower, 

The  White  Coyote  is  on  his  Throne 
By  the  sacred  silence  of  this  hour 

Tell  me,  has  such  Love  as  our  own, 
O,  lover!  my  lover! 

In  any  other  sky  been  known? 

Lo!  now  the  starry  lights  grow  wan; 

The  Dawn-youth's  skyline  path  grows  red; 
Johan-ai's  hand  your  shoulder  on 

Is  lain  to  say  the  night  is  dead. 
High  o'er  the  red-stone  cliffs  above 

The  Ripener  lifts  his  golden  jar — 
Give  me  your  lips  once  more,  beloved, 

How  parched  and  tired  and  bruised  they  are! 
O,  lover!  my  lover! 

Rise  up!  there  wanes  the  Morning  Star! 


[48] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


SONNET:     BEAUTY 

EAUTY  is  amaranth:   the  sapphirine 
Wind  no  tare  blows  upon  the  virgin  sward: 
The  carefree  billow  wears  no  glaring  fraud 
Tenhance  the  opal  of  its  hyaline. 
What  paints  the  rose?     A  web  of  silver  sheen 
Hides  the  tree-rot.     Shining  above,  pearl-starred. 
More  sweet  to  Jesus  than  the  spikenard 
The  tears  of  shame  shed  by  the  Magdalene. 
Earth,   Heaven,   Sea— only  by  man   create. 
The  Ugly  lives:    God  kens  no  record  of 
Pain,  Woe,  Fright,  Death,  Hypocrisy,  or   Hate, — 
We  fashioned  those  like  as  a  sweaty  glove 
To  hide  the  hand.     Strip  it,  and  roseate, 
See  the  clean  palm  of  Beauty,  Truth,  and  Love! 


[49] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


STELLA  AMORIS 
(A  Legend  of  the  Starry  Vales  of  Arcady) 

IN  a  dear  country  where  the  rivers  run 
Far  from  the  cities'   tumult  and  despite 
Through  honeyed  mazes  rich  in  flow'r-delight 
Wherein  might  Dian's  virgin   veil  be  spun, — 
As  Phreton's  car  drove  down  the  horizon. 
And   To  wreathed  his  moon-horned  head  in  night, 
A  goatherd  lad,  his  lonely  watch  begun, 
Gazed  in  the  fire  of  a  star  and  saw  its  crystal  heart 
grow  bright. 

And  o'er  his  head  the  rosy  flame  burned  close, 

Himward  lured  from  the  golden   orchestra. 

As,  rich  as  orioled  aria, 

From  his  young  throat  a  lovely  song  arose, — 

A  liquid  lyric,  silvery  as  goes 

A  bird's  quick  round  of  starbright  opera: 

And  as  an  oracle  its  answer  shows, 

Grew  in  the  constellation's  heart  the  Stella  Mystical 


[50] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


And  she,  in  garland  virgin  blossomry 

Loosed  by  the  gold  zone  of  her  satellite 

Her  breasts  as   stirred   pond-lillies,   flower-light 

Glowing    hke    flesh-warmed    pearls:— drew    near    on 

T,      shy' 

Trepidant   feet,   ready   the   meads    to    fly     ... 

'     •  i(;ninearer     •     •     •     a  rose  of  flame    their  mouths 
In  Venus'  chalice     .     .     .     Sweet,  the   denary 

that  ni"  ht°  °ame  and  WGnt  in  the  Spired 

And  all  night  in  that  amaranthine  dell 
With  flowers  below,  and  orbed  worlds  above 
My  goatherd  and  the  mystic  Star  ^f  Love 
Made  merriment  with  them  that  therein  dwell,— 
And  teased  the  scolding  squirrel  in  their  cell 
And  Played  each  flower  was  their  treasure-trove, 
And  dabbled  toes   among  the  asphodel, 
And  stole  the  rose's  wine,  and  frolic'd  through  the 
lovely  grove 


[51] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Until   the   shy  and  early-startled   fawn 
Threw  up  their  heads  and  smelled  the  coming  day, 
And  sought  the  sorel  for  the  pasture  way, 
Who  on  the  tree  bark  rubbed  their  velvet  horn, 
And  stretched  their  lordly  limbs, — until  with  dawn 
Began  the  wild  wood-dove  their  virelai, 
And  in  the  skies  the  onyx  lights  grew  wan     .     .     . 
Then  shy  as  a  disrobed  girl  the  star-nymph  fled  from 
the  boy  away. 

And  after  her  a  little  spell  he  ran: — 

Then  flung  him  down  among  the  meadow-sweet; 

And    wept,    and    cursed, — and    break    them    with    his 

feet:— 

And  when  the  sun  its  westward  course  began, 
Arose,  and  like  a  young  barbarian 
Upon  his  naked  chest  with  clenched  fists  beat: — 
And  'twixt  his  tears  and  curses  through  the  span 
Of  day  his  goats  drove  o'er  the  meads,  nor  stopped 

to  let  them  eat 


[52] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


Till,  as  the  ev'n  gathered,  he  drew  near 
A  merry  city  hung  with  gay  festoon 
And  watched  it  frolic  like  a  mad  buffoon- 
And  o  er  the  headlands  to  a  bay  did  peer 
And  saw  strange  ships  go  by  with  tarry  gear 
And  gaudy  sails;  and  list  the  sailor's  croon 
Until  the  sun's  last  thread  like  burnished   spear 
Waved  through  the   sea-gate,  and  in   gold   began  to 
full   the  moon. 

Then  marked  a  temple  with  a  marble  stair 
get  in  a  grove  above  the  hyaline 
btill  bay;  and  toward  a  small  lamp's  ruby  shine 
baw  a  hushed  throng  draw  nigh  in  evening  prayer  — 
Maidens  with  fruit,  and  youths  with  spoil  of  spear' 
Who  lay  their  gifts  before  a  hidden  shrine-— 
And  wondered  all  night  long  what  dripped  in  there 
Nor  knew  the  priestly  secret   of  the   flow'ring  corn 
and  vine: 


[53] 


PAN'S       REEDS 


'Till  strolling  on  the  fretted  sands,  he  saw 
The  sea  in  oily  phosphoresence  rise 
To  lay  in  pools  violet-deep  as  eyes 
Of  woman  on  the  cave-indented  shore. 
Winnowed   with  opal  fringes  from  the   maw 
Of  lined  aenemones: — ah  me!   more  wise 
He  had  not  peered  to  see  the  lupanar 
Where,  love  deflowered,  a  falling  star  was  mirrored 
in    that   guise! 

For  there  are  those  who  say  on  mortal  eyes 
That  pierce  the  stars'  white  chastity  too  plain. 
In  frosted  wrath,  or  luminous  love,  is  lain 
The  heraldry  of  earthly  sacrifice, — 
Labeling  such  the  children  of  the  skies, 
To  whom  all  fleshly  happiness  is  vain: — 
E'en  as  a  Christ  who  for  his  fellows  dies. 
Or  God,  or  Goth,  each  stargazer  somewise  this  world 
has  slain, — 


[54] 


PAN'S     REEDS 


Dear  children  of  a  flower  pregnancy 
Enciente  with  Merlin's  mythopoeic  wand, 
Sirened  with  every  cloudlet's  tressy  strand, 
Seeing  with  good  old  Don  Quixote's  eye 
A  dragon  in  each  tiercel  circling  high, 
A  palace  in  each  byre,  dwell  in  a  land 
Of  poppy-builded  castles  girdled  by 
A  rosary  of  romances  in  orbital  saraband. 

And  ne'er  again  the  star's  chrysallis  may 
My  goatherd  have  in  nocturn  dalliance: 
So  with  the  dawn  he  roused  him  from  his  trance, — - 
Xor  cared  that  wicked  gnomes  his  flock  made  fey 
And  drove  them  o'er  the  mountains  far  away, — 
But  when  the  sun  the  mist  pierced  with  its  lance, 
Arose,  and  gat  him  where  the  rock-beat  spray 
Dashed  its  white  crest,  and  in  its  mane  his  soul  rode 
from  durance. 


[55] 


PAN'S      REEDS 


And  as  for  those  who  sneer  at  verity, 
And  at  the  moon's  white  mystery  cry  "mew!" 
And  scientifically  explain  the  dew, 
And  say  that  in  each  child  is  born  the  lie, 
At  faeries  gibe,  and  think  love  venery, — 
They  are  not  half  so  wise  as  those  who  knew, 
When  sleeping  off  his  last  debauchery 
To  garland  old  Silenus  from  whose  drouth  creation 
grew. 

So,  some  good  god  had  tearful  ruth,  and  brought 
The  boy's  drowned  body  from  the  heartless  foam 
On  to  the  sands,  and  bade  the  warm  sun  comb 
The  frosted  brine  from  out  the  curls,  and  caught 
In  flower  chalices  the  pearlery  wrought 
Upon  his  lids  in  crystals  of  a  poem, 
And  flung  them  on  th'empyric  vales,  that  fraught 
With  threaded  tears  of  love  for  stars  be  lit  the  heav 
enly  dome. 


(FINIS  CORONATjOPUS) 


[56] 


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